


Perfume

by hotmess_ex_press



Series: your perfume (it's in my head) [1]
Category: BLACKPINK (Band)
Genre: F/F, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Self-Discovery, Support Blackpink, also the title has nothing to do with the fic, but it's a great song by the old 97's if anyone cares, honestly? this is a mess, read to waste time, sorry about that, the chaennie is all in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 11:12:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotmess_ex_press/pseuds/hotmess_ex_press
Summary: Grey bubbles filled with concerned words are neatly stacked up, one on top of the other, seemingly endless.Jennie imagines Lisa texting under the counter, trying to be discreet and failing, avoiding getting in trouble because even her boss loves her. The thought brings a smile to her face, tentative and small, but a smile nonetheless.Jenniesent 8:03Don't worry, Lise. I'm okay.





	Perfume

Jennie is out of pencils.

 

The ones she had found around her apartment, shoved through spiral notebooks, in the pockets of an old smock she had once used for painting, forgotten in the glove compartment of her good-for-nothing husk of a car, lay around her like strange corpses. Either too dull to write with or broken, lead snapped off the tip like a peony bent in half, the weight of the flower pulling the stalk away from the plant. They surround her in a blurry half-circle, a gradient stretching from the beige carpet in front of her to the blank cream wall on the other side of the room.

 

Why hasn't she ever thought to buy a sharpener?

 

Why hasn't she ever wanted to paint the walls, splash them in icy blue and shocking pink and velvety black? She does now. Anything is better than the apathetic off-white languidly gazing at her now, draining the warmth from the room and the spirit from her soul.

 

As soon as she clambers to her feet to get paper for a shopping list, Jennie realizes she has nothing to write it with. Those pencils are bad luck. She sweeps them into her bathroom trash can and takes the bag to the Dumpster outside.

 

Her rusting red car seems to peer at her, hopeful but afraid of _no_ , like a young child asking his mother for a bedtime story. Jennie stares back, toying with her keys with trembling fingers. The shopping list she never scribbled down runs through her mind. Froot Loops, pencils, a canvas, razors, and . . . a rug. Yes. Jennie nods. She'll test her luck with the engine if it means her bedroom floor could be just a little bit brighter.

 

Jennie comes back home with a rug (turquoise, with mint green stripes, almost big enough to cover all the ugly beige in her apartment), silky sheets in a shade of bubblegum she can't _wait_ to fall asleep in, and three candles (apple cinnamon and lavender peach brown sugar and something smoky called _ashes, ashes_ ).

 

Plus the Froot Loops. She's missed those.

 

 

When Jennie was a teenager, her parents dubbed Lisa a _bad influence_. They called everything that, from music to commercials to their own acquaintances, but it still hurt in reference to her best friend.

 

Jennie doesn't see how someone who flies halfway around the world for you after a teary phone call and a broken heart could be anything less than a lifesaver.

 

Lisa comes over almost every evening after her shifts at the bowling alley, and barrages her with texts the nights she doesn't. She endures Jennie's sulking and silence and the occasional crying fit with a cheerful smile and corny jokes, and Jennie is grateful. Her hugs are almost unfamiliar, strong and warm and absolutely _radiating_ fondness, especially after so many months of delicate arms and cool hands, slender fingers and the smell of roses and vanilla. It's nice. She realizes how much she's been neglecting her friendships, and resolves to change that.

 

Jennie promises she'll meet Lisa's girlfriend, Jisoo, soon, but not yet. The stories Lisa tells her pinch her heart, like a reminder of what love _should_ be, fun and exciting and full of joy and affection, and the feeling of jealousy rises up like bile in her throat. Jisoo sounds like she was made for Lisa, so why, _why why why why_ , couldn't Chaeyoung have been perfect for her?

 

Lisa understands, of course.

 

"I've missed you," Jennie whispers, in the glow of a laptop playing what used to be her favorite drama, under the half-collapsing blanket fort they had built earlier with the new, perfect, fluffy blankets Jisoo had found and sent to her, one of Lisa's arms slung around her shoulder, the other clutching a bowl of popcorn.

 

"I know," Lisa grins, cheeky. "Me, too."

 

 

Everything is _wrong_.

 

The canvas is propped up in front of Jennie, and the shapes are _wrong_ , the colors are _wrong_ , everything is just _off_ in a way that Jennie can't figure out and can't fix and it's grating at her nerves and itching her fingertips and ringing through her ears and she _hates_ it, it shouldn't _look_ like that, _she can't do this_ \--

 

Jennie lets out a noise of rage and flips the canvas off of the easel; it clatters to the floor, face down. Her paints and brushes and cups of water are swept off the table, splattering midnight blue and blood red and angry pink across the spotless kitchen. Jennie leaves the mess behind, ripping her smock off and kicking the door to her room shut. It crashes closed and the sharp sound clears the furious buzzing from her mind. She whirls around, back against the door, and sinks to the ground, heart beating hard and frustrated tears already flowing. She tucks her knees up to her chest and lets time slip by, breathing slow. _In out in, out. In. Out. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe._

 

Outside the paint blooms like flowers in spring, a kaleidoscopic disaster, ghostly stone of the crisp room slick and yielding.

 

Maybe it's been an hour, or two. Perhaps a whole day has passed when Jennie gets up again and steps out into the kitchen. She mops up the paint, all the water and swirling, melty hues, and sorts the supplies until everything is picture-perfect once again, save for the raised rectangle of woven materials still paint-down.

 

She crouches, and her hands shake when she reaches out. She hates that.

 

There is a touch of resistance when Jennie picks up the canvas, the floor sticky and colored where it laid. She lets out a small gasp.

 

The harsh, vibrant edges she had originally created are blurred now, softened and staticy from the water that had spread across the floor. Diluted rose and lemon and lilac bleed across the piece, sweet and shy and frothy over the fragmented skeletons of the first image, like clouds hovering dream-like and tempting.

 

It feels _complete_ , Jennie admits. Elegant in its feathery imperfections, delectable in its innocent complexity.

 

Something she can be proud of.

 

Her phone buzzes again from its place on the counter. Too many message, mostly from Lisa, a few from her friend Jiyong, greet her when it shudders to life. She scrolls to the latest one.

 

**Lisa**  
_sent 7:56_

_Jennie, if you don't text back in the next 15 minutes I'm cutting work and finding you_

 

Grey bubbles filled with concerned words are neatly stacked up, one on top of the other, seemingly endless.

 

Jennie imagines Lisa texting under the counter, trying to be discreet and failing, avoiding getting in trouble because even her boss loves her. The thought brings a smile to her face, tentative and small, but a smile nonetheless.

 

**Jennie**  
_sent 8:03_

_Don't worry, Lise. I'm okay._

 

 

Lisa brings over a huge chocolate cake with cloudy, fluffy pink icing.

 

Jennie raises her eyebrows. Lisa laughs, her full, unashamed cackle that has become something of a comfort to Jennie.

 

(She can't cook for _shit_.)

 

"Jisoo baked it," Lisa explains, and Jennie is surprised, _appalled_ , even, that someone who has never met her and is entering her life at the _worst_ possible time, can show such kindness and love. To her, _her_ , especially, Jennie Kim, broken but trying, isolated in her messed-up, sleepless entirety.

 

Of course it's delicious.

 

The rich flavors waltzing across her tongue, the simple fact someone like Jisoo even _exists_ , it all weaves together a melody of hope that sings straight to her heart. She's not the first one to hurt, after all. She won't be the first to heal.

 

 

The Dumpster outside the apartment complex is very full.

 

(Stuffed to the brim with sweaters that still smell like roses and envy, pretty pictures in twisty gold frames, tiny memories in the shape of dainty rings and fridge magnets from warm, tropical places, magazine clippings and albums Jennie never _really_ enjoyed. Simply overflowing with expired adoration and bad energy. All the things Jennie will be better off without.)

 

She never truly realized how _bare_ her apartment is, two measly rooms and a bathroom, all pale and timid with no real sense of _home_. Chaeyoung had become that feeling. For so long, _she_ was the color in Jennie's life.

 

_Was._

 

Chaeyoung is gone. Whisked away in a storm of fury and disgust and bottled-up resentment.

 

She is gone. Off somewhere bright, perhaps, waking up content next to someone better fit for her. Someone she worships.

 

Chaeyoung's gone, but Jennie will create her own home.

 

The painting that cost so many tears looks awfully lonely, hanging listlessly in the middle of that wall void of expression.

 

Jennie slings her old Polaroid around her neck, the one she had found buried in a pile of old trinkets, and stands in front of her closet, just looking. A pair of heels, flashy and bold and almost _too_ impeccable, calls out to her. She remembers wearing them so often in college they became an extension of her own feet, coming with her on dates and out dancing and whenever she needed to be _more_. She remembers the rush of looking great and knowing it, the confidence that came with feeling like she could conquer anything.

 

Towards the end of her time with Chaeyoung, she had stopped trying. That should have been a huge, glaring warning sign in itself.

 

The shoes are much too . . . _everything_ for what she has planned. She slips them on anyway.

 

There are so many beautiful hidden places in this city. Jennie regrets not looking for them sooner. She's missed out. Her camera shutter snaps in quick succession. She buys bright yellow flowers, carnations, maybe, or zinnias, she can't tell and can't bring herself to care, and smiles at strangers.

 

It feels good.

 

No, it feels amazing.

 

The photos turn out to be great companions for the forlorn art on her wall, jostling elbows and bumping into each other playfully. Together, they feel like laughter and summer sun. Sweetly, unquestionably, perfect.

 

 

Jisoo is giggly and thoughtful. She pours five packets of sugar into her coffee before giving up and ordering a soda, and offers Jennie some of her Nutella waffles. Lisa holds her hand under the table and Jisoo makes fun of her boots. After only a few minutes, Jennie feels completely comfortable with her. She can't even say that about Lisa, so she knows Jisoo will be a great friend. They all go out shopping, Jisoo buys matching stuffed animals, and Lisa does the teasing this time.

 

It's easy. Jennie loves it.

 

 

Lisa gets Jennie to dress up and they head to the new club one of her coworkers had told her about a few days ago. Once, they had gone out more often than what was probably practical, but that had all stuttered to a stop once Chaeyoung had stepped into the picture.

 

Jennie is excited. Eager to dance and drink and get lost in electric flashes and fast-paced music.

 

People stray towards her like moths drawn towards light, and a smile creeps onto her face and sticks. _She's still got this._

 

She lets the heavy beats wash over her, weave through and into and around every inch of her. Bodies move in time, in tandem, swaying back and forth as one. Bright white sweeps across the room like lightening, and Jennie's head follows its path.

 

A familiar face catches her eye. Pretty eyes, pretty smile, pretty clothes.

 

Jennie freezes.

 

Graceful fingers are laced through another's. A tall man leans close, brushing dark red-brown hair from loving eyes. Whispering everything and nothing into willing ears. Jennie's heart plummets.

 

Chaeyoung hasn't seen her.

 

Suddenly, everything is moving far too fast. Her head aches and her knees grow weak.

 

Lisa follows quickly when she sees Jennie stumble towards the bathrooms. Never questions, just comforts. Jennie cries.

 

She thought she was okay.

 

"It hurts seeing how easy it is for her," Jennie breathes, face buried in Lisa's collarbone. "She's still so beautiful."

 

Lisa lets the words settle into the gritty tiled floor, blending in with the secrets and tears and hurried lust already built into the grey-blue ceramic. When she does speak, her voice is quiet and gentle. "Do you miss her?"

 

Jennie inhales, exhales, breathes as steadily as her shaky lungs allow.

 

"I'll be happier without her."

 

She is gently rocked back and forth. Lisa hums.

 

"That's good, Jennie. That's really good."

 

 

"I love your room," Jisoo says, standing in front of her wall, taking in the sketches, the photographs, the paintings and snippets torn out from magazines.

 

Jennie looks around.

 

It's a lot different from the day it had started changing, the bittersweet afternoon she started realizing what she needed to become whole again. The rug she had bought then remains, a couple more tapestries layered over it, dyes and patterns and styles clashing horribly in a way Jennie can't get enough of, because everything deserves company. Every surface is soaked in color, the walls, the windows, her vanity and nightstand, colors in the form of scented candles and antiques from the tucked-away shops downtown, vibrant jewelry and tinted sunglasses, massive, perfumed bouquets in sleek, simple vases.

 

It's a living, reshaping, constant document of her progress.

 

"Thanks," Jennie replies, with a bigger beam than she knows what to do with. "I do, too."

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it through this...applause. I really just wanted to post something even though I'm not super proud of this. Oh my god do you ever just read through all your comments and notes and think, _wow, my internet self is so annoying_? Because I definitely do.
> 
> leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed this!


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